


Fire and Ice

by favefangirl



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Affection, Drabble, Feels, Love, M/M, Metaphors, SnowBaz, Soft Boys, boys being soft, mentions of an orgasm but like blink and you miss it, quick-read, quick-write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 05:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10587444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favefangirl/pseuds/favefangirl
Summary: If Baz is fire, then Simon is ice.Set post-epilogue.





	

Baz is fire. He's smoke and flame and burning. It's ironic since he's flammable, but he's obsessed. Everything he does, he does with fire. He doesn't even seem to register the danger. I caught him smoking once because he was stressed about uni exams and tore him a new one for it.

" _Baz_ ," I cried after walking out onto the balcony to find him huddled in a corner, cigarette in hand. He pouted at me like a child. "You're _flammable_ ," I scolded, putting it out against the coarse brick wall.

"Everyone's flammable," he argued, reaching for the packet of them laying on the table.

I snatched it before he could reach and turned on him with a frown, "No, Baz, _no_."

He called me Snow for a week afterwards, the bastard.

I think he's obsessed with fire because his mother could use it like a sixth sense. I think he likes feeling close to her, even though he still maintains she'd be ashamed of what he is. I think back to the hoarse voice whispering ' _rosebud boy_ ' back in our shared room at Watford and think that even the great Natasha Grimm-Pitch wouldn't be able to bring herself to kill her own son. I couldn't, even though everyone (including Baz and I) thought I was supposed to.

At night when he wakes up - I think he still has nightmares about numpties and coffins and choking sickly blood, but he won't tell me - and reads to calm his nerves, to avoid waking me up he'll light a dim flame in his hand. It strains his eyes to try and read in the dark, most fonts are too small and close together for him to read anyway. In the morning it smells like smoke a little in the bedroom and I always groan at him. But it keeps him close to his family's roots, so I never really mean it when I tell him to stop.

I always say he's obsessed and he always scoffs back. We never quite stopped bickering, sometimes it's the only thing which feels normal in the world. (I have fucking wings and a tail, everything's a little weird for me, alright!) Most of the time it's trivial, but with fire - with the smoking I'm dead serious about him stopping.

"And I'm just dead, Snow!" He always counters, like hearing him say it doesn't break my heart a little.

My therapist advised me to keep a diary, saying that it would help me to keep my thoughts organized and in some form of arrangement. I made Baz keep one, too. He said it was stupid but did it anyway - I'm 90% convinced I could get him to do nearly anything if I asked nicely enough - writing in it every night like I do. I read it once after stumbling across it whilst looking for something in our bedroom (technically it's mine, but my room has always been his, too). It was filled with metaphors of flames and heat and love and lust. It was fucking fire _porn_.

He writes me a lot in it, always calling me 'hot'. But I know he means heat, he means warmth and comfort. He means that my magic might be gone, along with the Humdrum, but the burning he's always felt with me is still there. It's beautiful, like poetry. Sometimes I think he's poetry. Sometimes he's _The Manhunt_ , then sometimes so am I.

Baz likes to cook which is handy since neither Penny nor I actually can. I think we were always too busy not dying to ever learn. If it weren't for Baz, we'd be living on cereal and toast. But Baz sometimes stands a little too close to the oven or stove and fear flares through me. Penny says I worry too much, but she wasn't there in the forest that day when everything was burning around us. She doesn't know what it's like to worry if maybe next time I can't kiss him back to normal. Back to Baz.

Baz is fire because Baz is heat. It's in his eyes. I always wondered what the phrase 'fire in his eyes' meant, it sounded to me like some horrific torture spell. But Baz has flames flickering deep within the grey of his iris'. It's like magic, I suppose, like beauty. It might just be a spell.

"You're fire, Baz," I mumbled once, half high on post-orgasmic bliss, half asleep after a long day of classes.

"Hmm," Baz replied sounding as blissful as me, but it was laced with confusion.

"You're fire," I repeated, "Because you're a force to be reckoned with."

"You sound drunk, Simon." He said. He always calls me Simon when we're alone. He says my name like a spell and sometimes I wonder if it is because sometimes it gives me shivers like magic.

"No," I argued, "No, you're _fire_. You-you're powerful and uncontrollable and..."

And then I fell asleep. I barely remembered it the next day, but Baz kissed me on the cheek over the breakfast he had made for us (domestic twat) and said that if he was fire, then I was ice. He said we were perfect opposites, two sides of the same coin, parallel lines.

He grinned, "Fire and ice, Snow, we're fire and ice."

I thought perhaps this held some malignancy. After all, fire and ice are destined to destroy each other every time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If you're feeling love leave a kudos and a comment!  
> I'm not very active right now because I've sort of fallen out of love with writing a little bit, especially writing fanfic. This has happened over the course of a few months I think, and I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I have my first important exams coming up. I think over summer I'll probably be really active and then not be active again when I have to take more exams next year. This year I only have two to take, but next year I have to take, like, ten so...  
> Anyways, I'm re-reading carry on. I'm on chapter 63 so Snowbaz is a-go, my ship is sailing, my crops are watered, my skin is clear, etc.  
> This isn't really my style, but I'm experimenting at the minute with different styles to see if that helps get my creative juices flowing. Also, whenever I write Carry On fanfic it always seems to be very metaphor-heavy? Like in my other, fic, Gravity. IDK.  
> The Manhunt is an actual poem by Simon Armitage and it's about PTSD and if you don't think either Baz or Simon have PTSD, you're wrong! Especially Simon who has to adjust to a normal life.  
> Anyway, thanks again for reading, have a wonderful existence.


End file.
